"This is the associate I was telling you about," the woman said, pulling her to a sitting position. "Roll up your sleeve."
"What? Why?" Jane looked around, but the room wouldn't come clear yet. Her head felt heavy and thick.
"Just my way of saying thanks."
"For what?" She felt her sleeve being pushed up and something cold and wet on the inside of her arm.
"For Rosemary's phone number."
"You called her?"
"Oh, no. You're going to do that for me." The woman tied a piece of rubber around Jane's upper arm and pulled it tight. "And in return, you get a trip to heaven."
The Oriental man held up a syringe and grinned as though he were a game show host showing off a prize. "But-"
The woman was shoving a cordless receiver into her hand. "You'd like to see her again, wouldn't you?"
Jane let the phone drop to her lap and wiped her face tiredly. "I'm not so sure, really."
"Then maybe you'd better get sure." The woman's voice hardened. Jane looked up at her in surprise. "I mean, I'm sure. I have a lot to talk about with Rosemary. The sooner you contact her, the sooner you go to heaven. You want to go to heaven, don't you?"
"I don't know if I can-I don't know if she'll even take my call-"
The woman leaned down and spoke directly into her face. "I don't see where you've got a choice. You're strung out and you've got nowhere to go. I can't let you stay here indefinitely, you know. The company that owns this place might not want me to have a roommate. Of course, they'd feel differently if you did something for me."
Jane drew back a little. "Who do you work for?"
"Don't be so nosy. Just make the call. Get her to meet you here, if possible, anywhere else if necessary."
She was about to say no when the craving gnawed at her again, shutting off the word in her throat. "This drug," she said, looking at the syringe. "It's-good?"
"The best." The woman's face was expressionless. "You want me to dial?"
"No," she said, picking up the phone. "I'll do it."
The man put the point of the needle to the inside of her elbow and then held it there, waiting, still wearing his wide, game-show-host grin.
She could hardly keep her mind on Rosemary's voice; there was no way she could keep her own voice steady. At first she tried to sound friendly, but Rosemary got it out of her that she was in trouble. The man and the woman didn't seem to mind what she said, so she plunged on, begging Rosemary to come to her.
But maddeningly, Rosemary kept telling her she would send someone to pick her up, and she had to insist over and over that that wouldn't do at all, she didn't want anyone but Rosemary. Nobody else, especially no men. She would run away if she saw any men. This seemed to please the man and the woman a great deal.
And at last she got Rosemary's consent and read the address to her off a card the woman held in front of her. Rosemary hesitated, but she pleaded again, and Rosemary gave in. But not there, not at that address. Someplace out in the open. Sheridan Square. A glance told Jane that would be fine with her new friends, and she told Rosemary she would be there.
"Once a social worker, always a social worker," the woman said, hanging up the phone. She nodded at the man. "Give it to her."
"Wait," Jane said weakly. "How can I get there if-"
"Don't worry about a thing," said the woman. "You'll be there."
The needle went in and the lights went out.
The lights came up dimly and she saw she was leaning against the side of a building. It was the Ridiculous Theatre Company, and she was waiting to get in to see a play. Late performance, very late, but she didn't care. She loved the Ridiculous Theatre Company best and she'd been to lots of theatres, the small ones in Soho and the Village and the Jokertown Playhouse, which had closed down shortly before she'd gone to work for Rosemary…
Rosemary. There was something she had to remember about Rosemary. Rosemary had betrayed her trust. But perhaps that was only fair, since she was such a great disappointment to Hiram.
It hit her so powerfully she thought it had to knock her down, but her body didn't move. Warm maple syrup was running through her veins. But underneath the warmth and the ianguor the void remained, wide open, eating away at her, and whatever this lassitude was only made it possible for the wanting to crunch at her bones without a struggle. Her stomach did a slow forward roll and her head began to pound.
A shadow by her feet chittered softly. She looked down. A squirrel was staring up at her as if it were actually considering her in some way. Squirrels were just rats with fancier tails, she remembered uneasily, and tried to edge away from it, but her body still wasn't moving. Another squirrel chittered somewhere above her head, and something else ran past, almost brushing her legs.
When was the theatre going to open so she could get away from all this vermin? Sheridan Square had gotten really bad since she'd last been there, to see the late Charles Ludlam in a revival of Bluebeard. Charles Ludlam-she'd loved him, too, and it had been so unfair that he'd had to die of AIDS…
She sighed and a voice said, "Jane?"
Rosemary's voice. She perked up. Had she been going to the theatre with Rosemary? Or was this just a happy coincidence? No matter, she'd be so happy to see her.
She tried to look around. It was so dark. Was there really a performance this late? And the squirrels, cbittering and chittering to the point of madness-it would have been exquisite with Ti Malice, but by herself it was only excruciating.
A thin flashlight beam cut through the darkness and she winced.
"Jane?" Rosemary asked again. She was closer now. "Jane, you look awful. What happened? Did someone-"
There was the sound of claws scratching on the side of the building. Jane turned in the direction of the sound and saw Rosemary standing a few yards away. The dim illumination from the streetlamps made her little more than a detailed silhouette. Funny, Jane thought suddenly, that the theatre had no outside security lights to discourage burglars or vandals. A darker shadow was flowing back and forth around Rosemary's ankles; it eventually resolved itself into a cat. Rosemary looked down at the cat and then up at Jane again.
"What kind of trouble are you in, Jane?" she asked, and her voice had a slight edge to it.
"The worst," said a man's voice. "Just like you, Miss Muldoon."
Jane shook her head, trying to clear it. Something was coming back to her, something about an Oriental woman who was not Kim Toy, and a man with a needle, and dialing the telephone…
A larger shadow swept up behind Rosemary, and suddenly she was standing with an arm around her throat and the barrel of a gun jammed up against the side of her face.
"It is appropriate we meet in the shadows," a man's voice said. Rosemary stood perfectly still, staring past Jane. Jane followed her gaze and saw the other man leaning casually at the opposite end of the building with his own pistol up and ready. Jane felt herself starting to nod out and forced herself to hold her head up. Her face felt itchy and uncomfortable and the craving for Ti Malice burst on her with a strength that made her want to double over. But her body could manage no more than a mild spasm. They lied, she thought miserably. The woman and her friend lied. How can people lie so easily?
There were more people, more men, melting out of the darkness to surround her and Rosemary. Even through the soupy fog that was her mind, Jane could sense the weapons and the malignant intent. The woman who had taken her home had been no friend of Rosemary's, or hers, either. But it was a little late for clever deductions.
"Aren't junkies funny, Ms. Muldoon?" said the man holding Rosemary. "That one sold you out for a mere dime of garden-variety heroin."